


A Time to Heal

by inkhat



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Injury Recovery, Partnership, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 02:50:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6102365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkhat/pseuds/inkhat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sole survivor is injured on a mission and can't sit still long enough to heal. Now she's off again on another mission, and Hancock must work with Valentine to bring her back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Goodneighbor didn’t bustle so much as creep, a slower movement than Diamond City, but no less deliberate. The shades were drawn in the Old State House, but Hancock could see his citizens through the slats, going about their days – safe as he could make them behind the walls of his city. He caught a bit of his reflection in the glass – a ruined face, black and yellow eyes.

His buzz was fading and he wondered if it were time for another hit while Sole was still out cold. The doctor had been by earlier – a surly man who didn’t like Hancock much, but reported Sole’s heath to him professionally and left. You’d think he’d be grateful for all the business he’d sent the man’s way. Maybe there was still time to –

A noise from the other room stopped him. He froze, his heavy boots upsetting the dust on the floor, his hands frozen between pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it. Yes, there it was again. He was sure of it, the soft metallic sound of Sole’s armor, the slide of a gun into a holster.

“Asshole,” Hancock spat and stomped to the door like an approaching storm.

Sure enough, Sole was out of bed. Her holster was hung and her hip and she were laboriously hauling her armor over her bare shoulders. Hancock could see her largest scar from across the room – a ragged white arch from the claw of Mirelurk long before Sole wandered into Goodneighbor. He’d underestimated the vault dweller then – thought he’d find them dead in the street by the morning. A waste of a lovely person, but unavoidable. He was wrong, and glad for it.

Now that scar stood out brighter than ever against the galaxy of bruises that ran across Sole’s back and the bright red scrapes over that. Hancock could see one white bandage, already soaked with pink.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He said.

Sole jumped a little, her fingers twitching toward her holster instinctually. When she saw Hancock her shoulders relaxed. Then she looked embarrassed. Then angry. Her face was touched with sweat and her breath came a little hard and a little ragged. Her armor stayed draped over one shoulder. She clearly didn’t have the range of motion to hoist it the rest of the way.

“Doctor cleared me. I’m heading out.”

“Like hell.”

“He said I’m fine. Cuts and bruises. Lots of rest. Whatever.”

“You’re a fucking liar, but okay.”

“Hancock….”

“You’re gonna get yourself killed cause you can’t rest for a hot fucking second?”

“Someone out there needs help.”

Hancock scowled. The buzz was gone now, leaving a feeling like someone scooped the meat out if his chest. More than that, his feelings were colder and sharper than usual and that included his least favorite and most familiar – fear. In three steps he was across the room, hooking a hand in the dangling armor. He forced Sole to face the cracked mirror in the corner of the room. He’d broken that mirror with his fist the night before he’d made himself a ghoul; he was so sick of looking at his own face. Now he regretted that, like he regretted so many things.

Sole felt hot to the touch, but she smelled like always – something like earth and a spice he didn’t have a name for. It was distracting, as was the fact that she was still slightly naked, but fear dulled that. In the cracked mirror Hancock could see the real damage splashed across his partner’s chest, including a hole in her shoulder patched over in white. That shot Hancock remembered, because it made him catch his breath. He’d been sure he was carrying the stubborn hero’s body home this time. But no, she stood up again, shoved a stimpak between her ribs, and kept shooting. 

“Look at yourself!” Hancock yelled “Look! You see what I see? I see a fucking mess. You think you’re going to go play hero looking like Brahmin meat?”

Sole looked away from the shattered mirror. The last week had been hard, sure, from a purely physical viewpoint, but it had torn up Sole in a way Hancock didn’t understand – knew he couldn’t. One night he woke while Sole was on watch to see tears in the firelight. He never asked. He didn’t know how. 

He laid a hand against Sole’s side and she flinch and grit her teeth. He left his hand there, not hard, but enough to be a reminder.

“Doc says you broke both these and probably a third. Covered in bruises. Tore a muscle in this shoulder. You can’t even lift this over your head, can you? Yeah. That’s what I thought.” He tugged on the armor.

Sole said nothing, and Hancock suddenly felt like shit for pushing so far. Even so, the momentum wouldn’t let him stop now, and he wanted to give away the things he was feeling – force them to be Sole’s problem instead. Sole didn’t look afraid though. She looked resigned and tired. She would leave as soon as he was done.

Hancock pushed her away, pulled the knife out of his belt and flicked it at Sole.

“Alright fine. You want to play this game? Let’s play. Come at me. Whatever you got in your pockets. You get past me you can do whatever you damn well want. Let’s go.”

“Hancock stop –“

“Let’s go!”

“There’s no point –“

“Let’s fucking go! Hit me! Come on!”

Sole sighed, dropped onto the bed, and let the armor slide from her shoulders.

“Alright you win.”

Funny. It didn’t feel like winning.

He pulled the armor off Sole and threw it over the back of the chair. She took thirty entire seconds to inch back into bed and under the covers. There was flinching and the sorts of unintended noises one makes under pain. When she finally made it she lay her head back on the pillow and moaned. Hancock tucked the torn blanket under her chin and threw himself into the chair beside the bed.

“Just don’t fucking pull this one me again,” Hancock whined “I’m not good with this. This is why I’m always turning tail when the feelings come out.”

Sole smiled a little. “You gonna run from me, Hancock?”

Hancock shrugged on instinct, but immediately regretted it. “You know what I say. Hurt the ones that need hurtin and help the ones that need helpin. Right now that’s you. I’m not running. I’m here.”

Sole’s breathing was slowing. Had she heard? It was awful hard to get out for no one to listen to it. It didn’t matter, Hancock decided finally, pushing his hat down over his eyes and settling in for awhile. She knew.


	2. Thank You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sole Survivor slips away and Hancock goes to an old ally for help.

The neon flickered in the storm raging outside. Nick Valentine could hear the buzz through his office walls. He thought he could feel it sometimes, matching the electric buzz in the back of his skull – the whirring and clicking that kept his mechanical body working. That was probably his imagination, if he had such a thing.

Few people were out in the downpour, so it surprised him when he heard boots stomp down the alley. He was even more surprised when he recognized the step. The man risked a lot, showing up in Diamond City. He’d probably be shot on sight if anyone saw him. Nick pulled a chair up in front of the desk and found a new pack of cigarettes. By the time the man opened the door the detective was back behind his desk, looking surprised as the man pulled off his hood and hat, revealing a scared and warped face and two deep, black eyes.

“Where is she Nick?” The man growled.

“Well, hello to you too, Mr. Mayor,” Nick said, “Why don’t you have a seat?”

“Asked you a question,” grunted John Hancock, Mayor of Goodneighbor and general pain-in-the-ass, but he sat. He smelled like smoke and dust and his voice rasped when he spoke.

Nick pushed a pack of cigarettes toward him, just to be a good host. Hancock took one. He was on something, something hard, but he almost always was. Nick didn’t need to ask who he was looking for and he wouldn’t insult him by pretending he didn’t know. Their lives had often intersected, but now they were uncomfortably entwined – pulled together by a crazy woman with a weapon and a grin. Nick missed her every day, her confidence, her kindness, her snark.

“Now why would you think I had any idea where she was?” Nick said.

“Don’t bullshit me,” Hancock spit, “I know you keep tabs on her. You keep tabs on all of us.”

Nick shrugged, a movement that made his shoulder click and squeak. He wouldn’t deny it. It was part of his job and it made things easier if he didn’t have to start from scratch every time he needed to talk to someone. He also knew it didn’t make him look exactly trustworthy.

“So why don’t you know where she is?” Nick asked, “seems like you two were pretty chummy last I saw you.”

“Supermutant broke her rib in Concord,” Hancock said. He pulled a tin out of his pocket and popped one of whatever was inside in his mouth. “I wanted her to stay, heal a bit, before she went back out. We –“

The ghoul trailed off, taking a drag on his cigarette.

“You fought,” Nick guessed.

“Guess you could call it that. Makes us sound kinda like a couple.”

“Aren’t you?”

“What is this? An interrogation?” Hancock said.

He stubbed out his cigarette so hard he crushed what was left into the ash and took another out of the pack. Nick took that for an uncomfortable maybe. In any case, he was going through them fast enough to tell the detective that he was passing nervous and moving swiftly into afraid.

“So you fought?” Nick said, “what’d she want to do?”

“She heard a kid got snatched by slaves in Allston,” Hancock waved a hand, “so she had to go.”

“So she’s in Allston?” Nick asked.

“I been. Place is cleared out.”

“Sounds like our girl,” Nick smiled. He couldn’t help it. That was exactly what he missed, that spirit that swept problems away in front of her by sheer force of will. “So you want to know where she went from there.”

“Great detective work, brother,” Hancock said.

“Let her go, John,” Nick said, as if it was an answer.

“Like hell.”

“She ain’t for you, John. She’s, how do I say it?” He took another cigarette, lit it, and let it hang in his mouth for a moment before he went on. “Dame like that’s a force of nature. You want to keep her locked up in Goodneighbor? Nah. She’s got battles to fight. Folks like us, we just slow her down.”

“Is that why you left?” It was Hancock’s turn to prod now, and Nick felt the sharp accusation in the words. “That why you didn’t say anything when she started hanging around me? I knew you didn’t like it, hero like her with someone like me, but you clammed up. You clammed up and left town.”

“She deserved more,” Nick said, and regretted every word the moment he said them.

“Damn, Nick.”

“It ain’t like that. I got nothing to offer her. Look at me, I’m falling apart.”

“That makes two of us,” the ghoul said.

There wasn’t much to say about that fact. Nick stood and made coffee, a cup for each of them, whole the storm ran its claws across the roof. Nick could sense the radiation in the water, even inside, but neither of them had to worry about that. When he turned back to Hancock the Mayor had his head in his hands.

“She was hurt, Nick,” he mumbled. “She was hurt bad. I saw it in her face when she moved. I know she can handle it, but one of these days she’s going to take on too much. I just want to be there, ya know?”

“I know,” Nick said. “Drink this. Sober up a little then we’ll head out.”

“You know where she is?”

“I know where she’s going. Allston’s gang was run by Redford. She’s probably headed to his hideout now. We can meet her there, convince her to stand down or at least be backup.”  
“Yeah,” Hancock said and he took the coffee.

The neon flickered outside. Hancock didn’t thank him. There wasn’t much else to say.


	3. What Happened Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember when that woman came to Goodneighbor? The mayor never really was the same since.

Hancock bet against the young woman before she even arrived. There were rumors of her approaching the city and, as usual, whoever was hanging around his stoop took bets on how soon she’d die. He gave her three days, especially since she seemed to be heading right toward the Scorpian’s hideout to the west.

Only she didn’t die. She lived for days, hiding in the rubble of the city. Then, even more unbelievably, stories came back to Goodneighbor rescues – pulling people out of cages and ditches, patching their wounds, carrying and dragging them to safety then staying until they could walk again.

Hancock lost a lot of money on her before she ever stepped foot in the city. He planned to tell her so when she did, maybe even demand that she pay him back, maybe in jest, but when he saw her he didn’t do any of that.

She wasn’t that she was beautiful, exactly. It was more than that, though, or different. She looked pathetic, filthy and half starved, and yet there was something warm and bright about her. She was like a little fire walking through the door. She faced danger and horror and a threat at the very doorstep of Goodneighbor and yet she remained herself.

Sole. Her name was Sole.

It wasn’t her real name of course, he saw through that, but everyone’s entitled to change what they are. That’s real freedom, baby. He gave her a job, paid part of it in advance, then sent her to the hotel. 

That night he didn’t walk the town, nor did he go to the old theater and drink and dance. He looked out the balcony on his town and thought of the fire he almost touched. He’d seen that fire before, but only just before someone burned out, or…something he couldn’t quite place. It was madness, wasn’t it? She’d burn out eventually and it would be a damned shame.

But she didn’t. She finished his job and saved a half dozen of his guys in the process. She made friends. She drank at the bar. She snuck kids a few caps to buy sweets. She saved stray dogs, for fuck’s sake. He watched her and fiddled with the reports of Scorpion Gang members on his perimeters. Sometimes she stomped into his office, her eyes sharp and bright, reporting on whatever he sent her out to do and he sent her out again, just so he got to see her stomp back through that door. Why did he do that?

“Would you get tired of her or bang her already?” Fahrenheit snorted from the couch.

“Shut up,” he answered.

He finally went back to the theater, two weeks later, and there she was, dancing in the center of the floor.

He sat in the corner and set his elbows on his knees, squinting at her. There was a woman on each of his arms and a man trying to get him to drink something, but he just watched her. She had a black eye, a cut across her neck, and a tiny smile on her face. That’s when he got the closest to understanding her, that she did everything for herself. No, that was too simplistic. She’d nearly kill herself for other people, for any person.

No. She did nothing that wasn’t exactly what she wanted to do. He didn’t even manage that. He’d freed himself and tied himself to a whole town. Maybe there was something wrong with him. He took the drink and downed it with a pill from his pocket.

Which is when the Scorpions showed up. He had about thirty seconds warning, because she stopped dancing. She froze like a dog with a scent, or a noise. He stood as she was drawing her gun – from where he had no idea. She wasn’t wearing much. The doors exploded inward and his people started screaming. He held out a hand and someone put a shotgun into it. Probably Fahrenheit. She was always there for him.

He emptied both barrels into the nearest man with a scorpion tattoo on his face and he flew backwards, knocking Danny aside and falling still against the floor. He cracked the barrel against the skull of another and spun to find a barrel just in front of where his nose once was, so close he could feel the heat of its last shot.

Then it was gone and there was Sole, bodies at her feet. She was standing in the lights still burning from he ceiling, a gun in her hand, her hair rising from her face. The music was still playing. The smile was gone. The fire was burning in her eyes, brighter and more dangerous than the gun in her hand and Hancock realized he wanted something he’d never wanted before – not in his long, long life of yearning and chasing and feeding his cravings. He didn’t even have a name for it.

Then they drank, the dozen of them that fought. Hancock drank until the room spun, or maybe it was the other things he was taking. At some point they were dancing, trading partners, spinning around the floor and she was there, a glass in her hand, dangling over his shoulder, laughing at something he said. What did he say? He wished he was sober enough to remember what he said.

Another new feeling.

He remembered she said, “you’re a good dancer, you know?”

And then they were in the street, stumbling home, falling on the stairs, his hand finding the skin under her shirt, so unlike his skin. It was smooth and flawless, but no – there. A scar, and another, deep and rough. He wanted to see all of them. She managed to get him into bed. He knew how this part worked and reached for her, his rough hands finding her neck and her soft hair. She put a hand against his chest and pressed him back with surprising gentleness.

“I’m not staying, Hancock. You’re in no shape for that,” she said.

“Please,” he said.

“It’s not right,” she answered.

“Oh no,” he whispered, hearing a laugh in his voice he didn’t feel, “don't make me respect you, Sole. That’s the worst thing you could do.”

She smiled that little smile and bent toward him, kissed him gently on the forehead. He was already fading from her. He wanted to swear something to her, to himself, to the morning light, but whatever he wanted to say was already gone.

The next day she stomped into his office and took a new job. He gave it to her, hoping she’d stomp into the office again. Sometimes she disappeared for a while, taking work from Valentine, or so the rumors said. Then she’d be back, a surprise, a little light in his day, but he could never manage to say the thing he wanted to say. As he pulled his hood over his face again, sneaking away from Diamond City in the middle of the night, the robot detective at his side, he wondered again what he should have said to her. What could he had said to make her stay?


End file.
